The First Five Minutes
by Owule
Summary: In the minutes between awake and asleep there are no barriers between reality and fantasy. (references to major character death)


The First Five Minutes

By: violet_scythe

The first five minutes are always the worst.

There is only darkness as I slowly make my way to consciousness, relearning the heaviness of my body. It's weight, the aches and groans. The stiffness and the sharp pain as I let my muscles flex and stretch while trying to rebury myself in the sweet smelling sheets of my pillow.

Unwilling to open my gritty eyes I yawn and feel my jaw crack and drag my comforter back over my head in a desperate attempt to deny the day its due.

 _One Minute…_

"Grayson. Get up." The isocratic voice is muffled by the pillows as I groan aloud.

"A couple more minutes, Dami."

"Now, Grayson! You smell worse than Titus when he takes a bath."

I feel a sharp tug on the covers as I tug back in vain. "Leggo."

"Fine. Smell like heard swine." I hear the sharp bite of annoyance and the rustle of footsteps heading toward the door.

My heart seizes for a few seconds before I blindly throw back the blankets, eyes blurry from sleep. "Okay! I'm-" I crash, my chin making a terrible crack as it meets the floor and my eyes water in pain. "Ow."

"Tt. I'll meet you in the bathroom."

 _Two Minutes…_

The familiar clicking sound sooths my racing heart as I try to kick my way free of the bedding wrapped around my foot. I groaned and rubbed at my eyes, dragging my hands down my face and trying to bring my room into focus.

Last night had been a doozy. I had ended up back in Gotham because I was tracking a couple of smugglers from Bludhaven.

While I was in town a couple of old friends had decided to greet me. Scarecrow and the Riddler were now resting quietly in their padded cells. I would probably have to call in Bruce for the smugglers, but I was leaving that as a last option. They were from my side of town, I should be the one to take them in.

I heard rustling in the bathroom and I could hear Dami mumbling about something as he did whatever he was doing in there.

I sighed, cracked my neck and rose on the tips of my toes as I made my way to the bathroom. Time enough to take a quick shower.

 _Three Minutes…_

My eyes were still a little bleary as I made my way into the bathroom.

"About time, Grayson. I'm taking a shower. Don't forget to shave. You look like an animal."

"Yes, your highness." I said as I blew a raspberry in the general direction of the shower.

I felt a silly little grin tug at the corners of my mouth as I watched the shower curtains with fondness, my chest growing warm with the beating of my heart.

Damian had shown up last night when I had been tracking the Riddler after I had dealt with Scarecrow. I didn't get to see him as often anymore and I felt bad for not keeping in touch with him. I heard through the grapevine that he and Bruce were rubbing each other the wrong way and he could probably use some time off or at least a buffer.

 _Four Minutes…_

I scratched the back of my neck as I tipped my head toward the mirror that was covered by a towel. I furrowed my brows at the white cloth. Damian must have put it there to keep it from fogging up.

I shrugged as I tugged it off and tossed it on the floor.

I felt my body give a little hitch of breath as I stared at the face in the mirror. My cheeks were slightly sunken, there were rings under my eyes and a lot more scruff on my face than I usually allowed myself. Not to mention my hair was lanky with grease and slightly itchy. Dear lord, I must have tangoed harder last night than I thought.

"Hurry up, Grayson. Your shaving kit is on your right." Damian's voice drifted from behind the shower curtain.

"Yeah, yeah." I mumbled as I lathered cream on my face and started to drag the razor across my skin.

 _Five Minutes…_

"Hey, Dami, time to get out, kiddo, you're probably pruned." I finished shaving and I picked up the discarded towel and wiped my face as I moved toward the shower. "Let me take a turn and then I'll make us a bowl of Crispy Crunch. How does that sound?"

I listened for his voice or the sound of the beating of water against tile. I heard nothing but silence.

I frowned.

"Dami, this isn't funny." I reached for the shower curtain, "Damian."

" _Richard."_

My heart screamed as I shoved the curtain out of my way only to be met by emptiness. My eyes darted around the large space, noticing the dry walls as I whirled around the bathroom, everything in me roaring in fear.

"DAMIAN!"

My voice echoed across the tiles as I ran back into the bedroom, body twisting as I took in the rumpled bed, my torn suit and nothing else.

"Damian, where are you?!"

My heart thudded against my ribs as I bordered on hyperventilation, my breaths rasping from my throat, clawing, trying to breath and I doubled over like I had just run a marathon.

I fixated on my hands, blood running down my arms where my finger stripes would be…blood-it was so _red_.

" _Don't touch him! Look at me!"_

I closed my eyes as if that would silence the voice ringing in my head as I struggled to breathe.  
"Richard," I squeezed my eyes closed as I stumbled my way back to the bathroom, my hands clutching for the sink. "We were the best-"

I groaned and slowly rested my head against the cool porcelain, my ears throbbing, _"What would you do without me?"_

" _What would you do-"_

Stop it.

" _What would you-"_

Stop it!

" _What-"_

"STOP IT!" my voice screamed from my throat as my fist made contact with the mirror and I felt the shards of glass tear my skin.

I clenched my teeth and ground them together. My throat working to keep the screams locked inside. Never breathing life into my worst fear. My reality.

I let my body fall, slipping to the tile as the shiny pieces of glass winked at me and I swear I can see your reflection in them.

 _Richard. What would you do without me?_

It's no longer an arrogant boast of a cocky ten-year-old. It's been warped in my mind as a warning, a mild form of curiosity.

I close my eyes and lean my head back against the wall, the towel scraping against my neck. I try, as I focus on the dancing lights behind my eyes, I try and recapture every cadence, every lilt, every slightly accented word you had ever spoken to me. Your face I can see clearly, I've always had a gift for face, but your voice.

The way it was foreign, but not, the arrogance, the uncertainty.

Faces. Faces, I can see in photos and surveillance footage-but voices were never the same. My parents' voices were gone now, more a feeling than a sound.

I didn't want that for you. I wanted to remember everything about you, but even now you were slipping. I couldn't quite remember the way you rolled your 'r's or if you stressed the 'Gray' or the 'son' in my name. I couldn't quite place the same disdain when you said Tim's name or how you called Bruce 'Father'.

And it was killing me.

The first five minutes are always the worst because in the fog between awake and asleep you live and I, for a few blessed moments, get to forget you're dead.


End file.
